


The Swallow

by abeautifullie3



Category: Supernatural RPF-AU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art like daaamn, Blood, Blood Drinking, Brief talk of suicide (no actual suicide), Community: j2_reversebang, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief after loss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Main character deaths (sort of), OC deaths (referenced - no details), Rimming, biting kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeautifullie3/pseuds/abeautifullie3
Summary: Written for a_biting_smile 's sublime offering to this year's j2_reversebang over on LJ.Jensen is a vampire, Jared is his soulmate, and this is the pinnacle of a Love Story that has crossed deserts, mountains, and seas of time.





	The Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The story is mine. Jensen and Jared, not mine. :::pouts:::  
>  To the best of my knowledge, **absolutely none** of this has happened outside of my vivid imagination. Pity...at least the naughty bits.  
>  No harm is intended by using the Js names/liknesses in my creative works.  
> (Seriously. I would never want to upset Jared or Jensen, and would promptly change the names or take down the story if asked.)  
> No real-life family members of J2 used in this fic.  
>   
>   
>  **Additional Notes:** Beta'd by: framedhim – a saint I tell you, dealing with my emo ass and all my insecurities (not to mention all the damn schmoop!). No smoke blowing, critique I can always trust, puting in the effort, and keeping me from giving up. Also NOT showing up at my door to knock me upside the head when I give grammar a rebellious finger. Love the hell outta her.  
>   
>  Gratitude to my artist, like duh – one of the best in our fandom. But really, from being such a good sport in the face of an overzealous 2nd-claimer coming at her from left field, to a perfectly timed poke, and for nothing but calm understanding when she had every right not to be. Thank you.  
> As for the astounding additional art I received, which captured the feel of the story magnificently... :::clutches chest::: A wealth of love and appreciation, truly.  
> Oh, and did I mention the art??? :::grins::: No, seriously, it's included within the story both here and on LJ, but you MUST visit her art post to bestow her with mass quantities of deserved praise!!!  
> https://a-biting-smile.livejournal.com/11420.html  
>   
>  **Author's Writing/Story Notes:**  
>  This story, it's not what I had wanted. At least 30-40k shy of what I'd anticipated – so much world building and developing characters who would reach out through my fingers to tell their tale. Hopefully I've at least managed a condensed offering of its essence. More hopefully I've done the art justice.  
> As my Beta and I concluded... there's always TimeStamps.  
>   
> Because I'm me, my vampires do not fully keep to traditional lore. Also, veiled nods to the movie Bram Stoker's Dracula. The moment I saw the art claim for this (so stinkin' gorgeous and visceral), I could hear Mina, " _Take me away from all of this death_."  
>   
>  This fic was born of the loins of Angsty McAngston. While it might not make any of my reader's cry, the characters sure the fuck do. Too much? Meh, debatable. Though if your issue is that men shouldn't cry...you're doing life wrong.  
>   
> When searching for inspiration for a class name, how could I resist???  
> Plagues, Witches, and War: The Worlds of Historical Fiction: https://www.coursera.org/learn/historical-fiction  
>   
> The title. Yes, I went there. Timing was everything. As this was being written curiosity about other things demanded satisfaction. Sooooo, I was goggle!fu'ing what swallows represented ('cause no it's not a fucking jay bird/blue jay, maybe a type of flycatcher, but more likely a swallow, do not even try to argue with me unless you're Jensen!) and, well, it just kinda-sorta-totally fit. Love, loyalty, mating for life. A return – reuniting – after a long, difficult journey. Too perfect.  
>   
> Music was, uhh...instrumental. Both figurative and literal. Sent scrambling for "dark classical strings" on YouTube when the landlady downstairs from me decided blasting Michael f'ing Bublé amidst me writing angsty vamp!fic was a good idea, from there I kept up the melodic coaxing and soothing of my Muse. Some random on repeat, a lot of Adam Hurst. Again with the repetition Believer, Sail, Take Me To Church through the sex scenes (Kaleo's I Can't Go On Without You thrown into the mix, because seriously, try to tell me J2 haven't gotten down and dirty and sweaty and...and... to that song. :::raised eyebrow, smug smirk:::) – all instrumental, strings when I could find it (yes, I am totally a strings girl) – until wrapping it up to 2Cello's With or Without You cover.  
>   
>   
> ♥ Comments are very appreciated and highly adored!!! Absolutely ALL con-crit is desired as well! ♥  
>   
>   
> Written for the 2017 J2_ReverseBang on LJ, and crossposted from here::: https://abeautifullie3.livejournal.com/116078.html  
>   
>   
> 

 

 

**_The Swallow_ **

 

**_Part One_ **

 

**_1732 France_ **

 

_"Hush a'by, don't you cry, go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall find, all the pretty little ponies..."_

The words, a long ago melody, and that familiar voice, all a soothing balm to his pained and fevered state. As if the caretaker'd already begun to cover him in the rich soil of the earth, eyelids heavy and encrusted, he fought to open them.

"Easy now," hushed words soothed as damp cotton glided over his eyes.

He blinked, even the soft diffused glow from the oil lamps harsh. He struggled to focus on the face of the woman whose hand caressed his brow.

"Ah, there's my beautiful green-eyed boy."

"Na...Nanna?" Lungs and throat burning with the fires of Hell come to claim him, he succumbed to the coughing fit – sticky crimson coating his lips and dribbling down his chin.

"Shh, don't talk, my boy. Not yet." The matronly woman carefully wiped his mouth with a clean cloth, held it there until the fit passed. "You must save your strength until... Rest, Young Master, and let Nanna make it all better."

 

 

She'd been nanny to the Ackles children for over two decades. Barely a woman at fourteen when she had come to them. Their first child (another on the way), Jensen, then a towheaded imp of five.  
In no time at all he'd become _her_ boy. It had been she who bathed, dressed, and fed him. The one to play hide-and-seek and climb trees with him. The one to tend and kiss his scrapes, to read to him at night, and to sing away the monsters during the storms. She loved all the Ackles children who were to come, yet it was Jensen who would always hold a special place in her heart.  
His childhood bosom friend (more than, an unconfided secret she kept), Tristan, by his side, he'd abandoned his schooling to see the world at twenty. "Do him good," Master Ackles had said. "Sow his oats before he settles down to the shipping business, begins his own family."  


  
  
  
For six long years she'd not seen him, relinquished to sporadic post cards which she kept bundled in her Hope Chest – tied with a yellow ribbon and cherished.  
At last returned, though not of his own accord – illness sending both him and Tristan home – her boy had days at best. Unless...

Jensen and Tristan had not been long departed on their adventure when her cousin, her dearest friend and confidant, he'd come to her – weeks gone by since his funeral. He'd kept to the cover of night, melded into the shadows, begged her not to scream (a literal hand lent when she could not comply), and confessed his damnation. The scattered times he'd bid her visit, Henry spoke of it as a curse. For her boy, it was the only hope of salvation.

 

 

"Did he grant his consent?" Henry kept to the balcony, barred not from false lore but hesitation and respect.

"Boy's barely been conscious, let alone coherent when he is. My responsibility since he was all of five, I take the decision upon myself now."

"Corra–"

"Please, Henry."

"It is not the cure you think."

"Perhaps, yet it is the _only_ one. Against death, I would give it to him myself but I could."

"You will come to hate me for it."

"I will love you as I always have. Even if you were to turn away and deny me this, even if you would leave my beautiful boy to become nothing but a rotting corpse in the ground."

"I have done ghastly things, Corra. Things that will damn my soul to the darkest pits of Hell. I entertain no qualms to my continued descent, 'til such a day when men who hunt my kind will see me beheaded and pinned in my grave."

"Henry–"

"It doesn't have to be this way for your boy. If I do this for you, you must teach him of another way. I can not promise it will keep him from my same damned fate, but you _must_ promise me you'll try."

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Corra nodded. "I promise."

Her cousin but a breeze through the room and suddenly at Jensen's side, her boy startled to consciousness on a scream, teeth – fangs – locking into his throat. Mere seconds seemed torturous hours before Henry released his hold, gash in his own wrist pressed firm to her boy's mouth until he gasped and fainted away.

"He'll sleep now. Be ready when he wakes. I drained two grown men when I woke to this. I'll go out to the barn, one of the cows should be enough. Pails will be left by the door. Hereafter it is left to you."

"Thank–" Corra's cousin was gone.

 

 

**_Present Day_ **

 

Sleeves of his cornflower blue button-down rolled up to the elbows, charcoal gray tweed jacket discarded long ago, Jared sat perched on the edge of the desk, one denim clad leg dangling over. The dark, crisp jeans were his one concession to the traditional college professor garb.  
Professor Padalecki watched his students file out from the lecture hall, fewer than usual pausing to vie for his attention on this matter or that given it was end of the day Friday.  
The last joke made, answer given, and Susan- _call me Suzy_ -Gibbon's established red apple – polished to a shine – delivered with a salacious smile (Jared always feeling a bit like Adam to her Eve, on principal he'd never taken a bite – a month into the semester, the same black squirrel learning to wait near the big oak outside the building for its twice weekly treat.), Jared found himself alone but for the solitary figure in the back row.

Feet heedlessly propped up on the seat in front of him, and a smirk to rival "call me Suzy's," the hunter green of his suede jacket complimented his mirth-filled eyes, while the black cowl neck sweater beneath highlighted his freckled, pale complexion.

Sliding smoothly from his casual perch, Jared tossed the apple still in his grip into the air, caught it, and repeated the action once more before placing it on his desk and stalking his way up the center aisle stairs. "Are you lost, little boy?"

The man, young man, though certainly not a boy, raised a gently curved dark brow at that.

Jared couldn't help but laugh. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm a train wreck at the whole flirting thing."

"Perhaps when it's genuine–"

"No, no. My wing-woman back in the day said it was painful to watch."

"What about your husband?" the younger man asked, still slouched down in his seat. "How did you manage to woo him?"

"Oh, believe me, Jensen, the only _wooing_ was on his end. Me, I just spilled my drink on him."

Jensen snorted, amused, and shifted to sitting something closer to proper. "Well, he must have found it endearing."

"I suppose so. Anyway, what brings you by? Don't get enough of me Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

"Never." Jensen reached down, producing a large to-go beverage cup. "Mid-Century Poets was canceled, thought I'd kill some time before my last class. Offer you caffeinated bribery towards my mid-term grade."

Jared watched Jensen stand, the younger man likely only an inch or two shy of his own six-five if not for (admittedly, at least in the private depths of his own mind) adorably bowed legs, and accepted the venti offering of still-warm liquid fortification for his last two classes of the day. "You're already getting an A, you know." Jared inhaled the heavily adulterated java, scents of hazelnut, cinnamon, and caramel revealing just how closely Jensen paid attention.

Jensen stretched, twist at the waist right then left. "What can I say, I like the little plus sign after."

A handful of early birds began to filter in for Jared's next class.

"Tell you what, you give the test your best effort, and if you still need more to get you to that symbol I'll come up with some bullshit extra-credit for you."

" _Extra-credit_ , huh?" Jensen punctuated the flirtatious innuendo with an over-the-top waggle of his eyebrows, nondescript black book bag hefted onto his shoulder.

Jared rolled his eyes, giving his student a playful shove to the shoulder. "Get outta here."

"See you later, Professor Padalecki."

The way he said it, the brief flash of honest and blatant heat which always accompanied it in his gaze, Jared wondered if Jensen ever noticed how each time it made him shiver. "Have a good weekend, _Mr_. Ackles."

 

  
  
  


**_1732 France_ **

 

"Mr. Ackles, sir, please!"

The young servant ignored, Jensen continued his barge into the stately home, taking the curving staircase two marbled steps upwards at a time. "Where is he? I have to see him!"

"Jensen!" a strong baritone barked, commanding attention.

Pivoting mid-step, Jensen turned to face Tristan's father. "Where–"

"He– The parlor, boy."

Jensen stumbled. The man normally robust in health and gruff in nature, he'd never once known Captain Padalecki's voice to waver, for him to look so pale and drawn. No. NO! Tristan wasn't... Jensen couldn't be too late. He _couldn't_ be...

 

 

**_Present Day_ **

 

Unnaturally silent footfalls leading him across the University campus, Jensen savored the lingering heady scent of desire Jared had given off, ignoring the bitter taint of mingled guilt. He could have more, if he pushed. Of that Jensen had no doubt. Cross the boundary of harmless flirtation onto seduction with intent, and Jared would surrender – to Jensen, to destiny. To finally be by his side for eternity.  
Yet, he couldn't bring himself to it.

Three lifetimes he'd lost Jared before he could turn him, several more the circumstances too unfavorable. He'd sworn he wouldn't hesitate once led to him again. Not only tethering their souls together once and for all, but rescuing Jared from the pattern of tragedy which seemed to befall him in each life he lived. Yet when he'd once again found him, nearly fifty years passed since Jared's last incarnation had taken its final breath, Jensen had found him...happy.  
In his mid-thirties, a college professor. Adept, confident, and fulfilled in his position teaching literature. Life complete with a loving and doting (intelligent and handsome too, if Jensen were to give due credit) husband. As well a young son, just turned eight. Adopted as a toddler, still somehow managing to appear the perfect blending of the two men.  
Jared's appearance closer to that of Tristan's than it had ever been, if Tristan had lived to age another ten years, perhaps... The tall and lean muscular frame, silky auburn waves, dimpled smile that could put the brightest rays of sunlight to shame, and his eyes – always the ever changing kaleidoscope irises in each incarnation, but now once more with the exotically tilted setting under a prominent brow.  
The draw of his soul in incarnations past had been strong on its own, but to see so startling a resemblance to his lost love... Jensen had left the sunlit park where he'd come upon Jared – husband and son occupying him in a rambunctious and laughter filled game of tag – and fallen into darkness. Had holed up in his motel room drowning in sorrow and liquor – no matter how much he consumed incapable of bringing a welcome death.  
A week of wallowing in misery had turned to selfish anger. Tristan was his, Jared Padalecki's happiness be damned! Jensen had stalked with intent. Lurking in the shadows of a glaringly perfect life, just waiting for the opportune moment to strike and claim what he felt rightfully his. He had watched as Jared laughed amid the instruction of charges seeking his wisdom in higher education, playfully kissed his husband whilst preparing evening meals, and sat on the edge of his son's bed and read him to sleep.

Jensen was a vampire. For most, that made him a monster. And if not for Nanna, had he been turned under other circumstances by a true monster, he may have indeed become one as well. Preternatural strength, stealth, powers of the mind. Immortality. Those were his. He'd never killed another human but for his own self-preservation or the defense of an innocent. He'd never turned another. And though he possessed a primal understanding that rewarmed animal blood could not compare to draining a human 'til the last pull from the final beat of their heart, still it was the path he chose. And when that perfect moment had arisen, the feel of Jared's jugular thundering under the claim of his fangs near tangible, the realization had come as well: while a vampire, he'd never been a monster – nor would he become one for selfish purpose.  
Neither could he walk away.

Centuries old, Jensen had never finished college... … …

 

 

Thursdays were theirs. Maybe only for an hour or two, Jensen had allowed himself that small claim on Jared – though little in the way of persuasion had been necessary. But for the heavy flirtation, their lunches were harmless enough. Jensen suspected Jared's husband, Christopher, would not however approve – the constant conflicted guilt permeating from Jared confirming as much. Jared there of his own accord, Jensen was okay with that.  
It was their short day. _Plagues, Witches, and War: The Worlds of Historical Fiction_ the last class for both of them. Jared pawned off more responsibility to his TA to make the weekly escape off campus for a couple hours with Jensen – a weekly bite with a comrade in world travel and fellow lover of literature, nothing more.

 

 

"So, any more dreams?"

"I'm starting to feel like we need a couch and you should be charging me by the hour."

Jensen's eyebrow immediately cocked, amused – and lascivious – grin pulling wide at his generous lips. He watched as Jared swiftly flushed a deepening shade of crimson, the lurid twist to his innocent words hitting him.

And so another precious few hours were spent with Jared. A shared meal amid anything from casual banter to deep discussions, the salacious thrill of flirting which they wordlessly understood would go nowhere, and Jared sharing his dreams – dreams Jensen knew to be memories.

 

 

Nearly a year having passed since he'd found Jared once again, Jensen could feel it deep in his bones – in a heart that no longer beat as mortals' did, yet could still ache just as keenly. The only comfort in spite of whatever tragedy had struck, was in knowing Jared was alive. Jensen had always sensed when Jared passed from a life – as well when his soul had returned to another.  
Jared missing from his class was unnecessary confirmation, though the announcement from the TA afforded Jensen the devastating specifics without need to seek them out.

 

**_Part Two_ **

 

Jensen had given him time to mourn. To feel his loss and justly grieve – cloying sour scent of it coming off Jared even through the solid wood door separating them.  
The ringing of the doorbell drew no answering footfalls from inside the two-story colonial, a home once full of life and love. The knocker did not rouse the listless sole occupant. Jensen had anticipated as much. Wanted to afford courtesy nonetheless, before defying one myth – the necessity of invitation – and in turn proving another – preternatural strength, twisting metal and splintering wood at his determined entry.  
Not that he needed them, only a dim lamp lit the entryway, while flickering artificial light led him between walls adorned with framed photos to the rear of the house.

The family room. Likely once the heart of the home, now a tomb of memories and sorrow.

Jensen stared at the muted images on the flat-screen. Forever locked in time and pixels, the happiness of a family Jensen hadn't been able to bring himself to tear apart – and for his selflessness, yet another lifetime of Jared's come to tragedy that Jensen failed to keep him from. Objectively he knew short of manipulating Jared, of forcing eternity and fate on him, Jared never would have left his family. With that same sensible reasoning, Jensen understood he was not responsible for the harsh misfortunes of Jared's past incarnations. Still, he took the guilt of them on himself. Had sworn once he found Jared's new reincarnation he wouldn't hesitate, no matter the circumstances. And for his lack of will Jared laid before him on the sofa – a husk of the vibrant college professor Jensen had last seen four weeks ago.

"Go away, Jensen." There was no trace of surprise in Jared's tone, or expression, at Jensen being in his home.

"Death the only visitor you're open to accepting? Join your husband and son to be set on some family member's mantle or bookcase?"

"Fuck you."

"Why drag it out like this? A hot bath and a sharp blade, you'd already be with them." Jensen knew the reason, could sense it in Jared's mind clearer than if he'd given voice to the answer. Still, he wanted Jared to say it.

Silent minutes went by, shadows and light from a young boy diving into a shimmering blue lake casting an eerie glow over Jared's wasting form.

"Tell me, Jared. Say it."

"I...I promised."

"You did. The dying breaths your husband struggled for, to make you swear you'd go on. To not forget them, but to remember him and your son with love as you carried on without them and found happiness."

Jared's entire body jerked, eyes startled and focused on Jensen. "How did you...?"

Jensen picked up the remote lying on the coffee table littered with used tissues, unopened mail, emptied liquor bottles, and barely touched microwave dinners. With the click of a button three smiling faces turned to static blue. "You're fooling yourself if you think you're keeping your promise. Starving yourself simply the long way round compared to a handful of pills. Each bottle you drain merely slower than a swift bullet through your skull."

Forcing himself to sit up, Jared planted his feet on the floor – though his legs failed him when he tried to stand. Defeated, he slumped back. "What do you want from me, Jensen?"

It wasn't the question Jared had intended, Jensen seeing it as if the failed execution of confrontation had played out: feeling the false bravado of Jared standing him down face-to-face, tasting the solemn fear of his demanded, " _Who are you?_ " That Jared was too crippled by his bereavement to even show fright... Jensen flung the coffee table across the room as though it were no more than a sheet of paper, and dropped to his knees in front of Jared. Taking hold of trembling hands – Jared finding strength for alarm at the outburst – he answered the unspoken question, "I am the shadowed presence in your dreams. The faceless silhouette beside you in long-past memories that come to you in your sleep."

"Jensen, I don't..."

Though he didn't try to pull away, Jared's fear was tangible, a sharp tartness on Jensen's tongue and the thumping heartbeat like that of a frightened rabbit echoing in his own barely beating heart. Jensen drew the hands in his up to his lips. Tasted skin as he kissed over the knuckles. "I am your soulmate, and you are mine."

" _No_ ," Jared hissed, yanking his hands free. "No, Christopher was – dammit, _is_ – the love of my life!"

"And I wouldn't ask you to deny, or forget, the love you shared with him, but you were mine centuries, life-times, before you were his, and I will not give you up easily this time. Look at me, Jared," claiming grip digging into shoulders losing their former muscle mass, Jensen shook him for emphasis, "look at me! See me, _us_. Remember who you've been, what _we_ once were – and are destined to be again – to one another."

Hazel locked with iridescent green aglow, though shared in Jensen's mind the visions that came were Jared's. Not flashbacks, recalled as if relived, but memories, still as true and vivid as the home movies playing on the television mere minutes before.

A boy of ten, sitting at the piano – and Jensen the instructor beside him.

A French prostitute, swollen with child – and Jensen the artist painting her.

A fishing boat captain in the Bering Sea, gruff and haggard – and Jensen, his young lover, dragging up a net beside him.

A widowed mother of five – and Jensen the drifter patching the barn roof.

More fragments from his dreams – memories – came until the pinnacle. Not necessarily the beginning, but crucial. So many lifetimes, and in none had his appearance been as similar to his present one.  
A childhood with Jensen by his side. Youngsters learning and growing, exploring their world – and each other – in their shared youth. Young men, secret lovers, granted passage to further their explorations throughout the rest of the world, intent to devise a way to escape the per-ordained futures their families were eager to thrust upon them – instead living out their days together as eccentric spinster bachelors. The escape that came was not the one they sought, Pestilence seeing them home and Death close on their heels.  
The memory began to fade for Jared: a mother weeping over a body of bones and sallow skin gasping its final breaths. As she soothed a hand over his brow in the long ago past, so Jensen mirrored the loving gesture in his present.

" _See_ , Jared." Jensen's own memories picked-up where Jared's left off, Jared accepting the imagery with a startled gasp.

Jensen in bed, no better a state than Jared ( _Tristan_ , he'd heard himself called) had been, his Nanna who'd raised him at his side. She was speaking softly, though urgent, asking Jensen things he had no strength or presence of mind to answer. Her expression of sadness turned to steely resolve as she called to a shadowed figure on the room's balcony.  
Jared watched it all play out, disbelieving yet knowing it to be truth. He flinched in horror as sharp fangs pierced Jensen's neck, the red stark and sickening against the grayish-hue of his skin, and tears streamed down Jared's cheeks as he observed Jensen, guttural cries and broken draped over "Tristan's" coffin in the family parlor.  
The visions ended, fading out in tendrils of twisting colored smoke, yet the knowledge and acceptance of their truth, the feelings and emotions, especially those for Jensen, stayed – seared into Jared's mind and tattooed onto his heart. He'd carry them now, as Jensen had through all of the centuries since. _Jensen_...  
Jared lurched forward, taking Jensen's face between his shaking palms and hiccuping his name on a hitching sob, "Jensen."

Head nodding emphatically, Jensen leaned in to close the distance between them, "My love." and gently brushed his lips against Jared's.

No hesitation, Jared kissed him back. Urgent, desperate. Hands coming round to cup Jensen's ass – encouraging, drawing him closer – as he climbed into Jared's lap. Eager hips rolling against him, Jared's own bucking upwards in reply, his eyes flew open.  
Startled free from the intense flood of emotions at remembering – and acknowledging – his love for Jensen, he careened into the present with its fresh loss of his husband. Pulling away with a pained whimper, Jared shook his head. "No. No. I _can't_." Torn, even with his voiced rebuke, Jared wrapped needy arms tightly round Jensen's back, forehead dropping against a strong shoulder as he mournfully sobbed.

Jared's conflicted agony ricocheted through Jensen as if it were his own, his hands cradling the back of Jared's head and drawing him in closer. "Shh, Jared, my love, I would never deny you your memories of love and happiness in this life – or any other – but please, let me put an end to this cycle of sorrow and tragedy you've been ensnared in."

Struggling to compose himself, Jared eased Jensen from his lap. Finding the strength to stand, he made his way around the sofa, walking out the patio doors into the backyard – the sun just setting, soft colors of pink and purple and gold brushstrokes against the canvas of the sky.

Jensen forced himself to give Jared several minutes before eventually following, stopping and leaning against the frame of the patio doors to continue allowing Jared a modicum of the space he clearly needed.

"You can be out in the daylight." It wasn't so much a question, the answer obvious, but more Jared's request for further understanding.

"Yes."

"Do...do you kill people? Drink their–"

"No. And I have never turned another. I... I have killed for self-defense, for the protection of innocents. But Nanna, she taught me... She kept me from becoming the monster fables would paint me to be."

"Good, that's...that's good."

Taking Jared's curiosity as a positive sign, Jensen offered more, "I don't age as the living. Beheading and a stake – wood, metal, makes no difference – through the heart the only means to my end. Blood is a necessity – animal blood, nothing which can't be acquired at a good butcher shop. There are certain...'gifts', if you will. Things you would learn–"

"I need time, Jensen."

"Jared–"

"Jensen, please!" Jared's hand came up, halting and beseeching, though he couldn't bring himself to turn and face Jensen. "I know. I know you've waited centuries, and despite remembering I can't begin to imagine how hard it's been for you. You have to let me sort this out though. I can't just... I need you to go."

Jensen hesitated, unsure how he could do as Jared asked – the mere thought of leaving him a physical pain – yet how could he deny him anything? Moving forward, he stood behind Jared, the barest sliver of space between them. "I have not stalked you through the centuries. Each of your lifetimes I waited for your call, letting it lead me to you when it came."

Jared leaned into the solid and trembling body behind him, closed the distance between them, head tilted back on Jensen's shoulder. "Please, Jensen."

Jensen kissed Jared's temple, knowing it could very well be the last time he saw him until his next life. "My number and address, I'll leave them on the hall table. I... I love you, Jared."

A wisp of wind against Jared's back, and Jensen was gone.

 

 

Wiping away tears that had slowed yet refused to stop, Jared made his way through the downstairs and up to his – and Christopher's – bedroom.  
Lifting worn cotton from where it had been discarded on the unmade bed, he sniffed the same t-shirt he had been since returning home from the ER four weeks earlier – his husband's scent still strong if he inhaled deeply enough. Dampened by his salty despair, he let it fall from his fingertips. Jared turned away, pausing to shed the tee and sweatpants he'd been wearing since he shamefully couldn't remember and making straight for the shower.  
His actions were automatic, hands going through necessary motions as his overwhelmed mind tried to sort through an onslaught of information and an amalgamation of deep emotions.  
Jared recalled seeing Jensen for the first time, intense gaze from all the way in the rear of the lecture hall. Would've risked his entire career to stalk up the stairs, straddle Jensen's lap, and lick his way between those full lips right there in the middle of his class – if not for Christopher. There'd been no resentment, only acceptance. Jensen relinquished to friend, despite their uncanny connection on multiple levels. The tamping down of deeper feelings for one man in light of his love and commitment to another.  
Now though, with all that had been revealed and recollected...  
"Dammit!" Jared slammed his fist into the tiled wall of the shower.  
He loved Jensen. More intensely, passionately, than any other person through his long string of lifetimes. Would be a blatant liar if he tried to deny it, and other than himself and Jensen – Jensen who'd been devoted to him across deserts, mountains, and seas of time – who would he be hurting if he didn't? Christopher, their son, they were gone. No amount of denial, passing of time, or Jared keeping himself locked away with the ghosts of their memories could bring them back.

"... _please, let me put an end to this cycle of sorrow and tragedy_..."

And what of that accursed cycle? The matter of being with Jensen aside, how could he continue living one ill-fated life after another if it were possible to stop – Jared not the only one to suffer the hardships in his incarnations. But to become a vampire? He couldn't be bothered to wrap his mind around the fact of their existence, though wondered if he should be shocked and horrified at the idea of becoming one. Somehow, amid everything else, it didn't seem important...yet possibly the answer to everything.  
Brushing the slimy sourness from his mouth (how Jensen had managed to kiss him earlier...Jared cringed), taking the clippers and razor to his scraggly beard, and dressing in clean clothes were all perfunctory tasks with Jared's mind elsewhere. Though he refused to dwell on any particular tragedy that had befallen him – keeping himself a distanced observer – Jared recalled every illness, trauma, devastation, catastrophe, and loss he'd suffered through his lives. If he allowed himself to feel the true emotional impact of it all – the weight of it would be crushing, too much for any person to take in as a whole. Yet he had to acknowledge it, accept it as definitive truth without question. His brain insisted on solid reasoning to follow through with his intent. While still conflicted, and not to diminish his love for Christopher, Jared's heart – his soul – had already made their decision.  
Jared stood in the bedroom he'd shared with Christopher for ten years and took it all in. The teal walls and soft brown accents they'd gone round and round about until playfully wrestling for it. The tasteful male nudes on the walls their son always scrunched his nose at. The unmade bed where they'd made love what was to be a final time that fateful morning...  
Stepping over to his bedside table, silent tears slipping down his cheeks, Jared removed his wedding ring. "Thank you, Christopher." Setting the etched gold band next to a framed black and white photo of them from their wedding – bright joyous smiles and sharp tuxes – Jared turned and left the room.

Down the hall, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, unsure he could follow through without breaking into shattered pieces. Resolved, Jared swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and stepped into his son's room.  
He'd always been a tidy kid, though there were Legos strewn about on the floor where he'd left them abruptly... Jared picked up the pillow from his bed, inhaling the scent that still lingered as he gave up a series of hitching sobs. Letting it slip from his hands and turning to leave, his steps faltered, halted by the polished green and black on the small desk catching his eye. Jared picked up the necklace from the Ren Fair, tears coming faster and blurring his vision of the photo it had been draped over. Clenching the pendant tight in his fist, Jared shoved it into his front jeans pocket and fled the room.

Snatching up his keys – and the envelope Jensen had scribbled on – from the table in the entryway, Jared opened the front door. Looking back into the darkness of his home, he somehow knew it would be for the last time.

 

**_Part Three_ **

 

Jared was a mess of tears and snot and grief by the time his GPS led him to Jensen's – merely a fleeting thought through his troubled mind how the modern home, built into the bluffs on the edge of the lake, was not what he would've expected.  
He hadn't called ahead, though Jensen was still out his front door and in the driveway – there, waiting – before Jared was even out of his truck. On shaky legs, he emerged from the driver's seat, keys left in the ignition, and stood face-to-face with Jensen. "Tell me I'm not disrespecting my husband, my son?"

"No, Jared, no!" Jensen stepped forward, fingers curling round Jared's biceps to stress his adamance. "Your husband wanted you to go on, to find love and be fulfilled. And as it happened, your circumstances – ours – to say they aren't typical, well... You already had that love waiting and ready. And for you to embrace it doesn't diminish what you shared with those you lost."

Despite his nod of assent, the whole of Jared's body quaked as he fell into arms that enfolded him – prepared and willing to bear the weight of him and his sorrow.  
Unaware of taking even a single step, Jared was inside Jensen's house – warm and comfortable, a fire crackling and scent in the air intoxicating with subtle notes of musk and spice. The back wall of the open living area comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows facing out over the lake, the breathtaking views, the entire atmosphere of the home, were meant to offer a sense of tranquility – a feeling Jared desperately yearned to wash over him.  
Turing further into Jensen's embrace, he ducked his head, broken murmurs against salty skin, "Free me from this, Jensen. All of this tragedy and anguish, no more."

Pulling back to peer into red-rimmed eyes, Jensen searched their hazel depths, a solemn nod once sure of what he'd found. With a tender brush of lips to Jared's, Jensen placed a flat palm against his forehead and drew it across his creased brow, catching him as his knees buckled and his face went lax.

Out only for a moment, Jared opened his eyes. Safe in Jensen's arms, he smiled.

Easing Jared to stand on his own, Jensen smiled back, knuckles brushing away the stray tears on his cheek. "Your memories?"

Capturing Jensen's hand in his own, he kissed the salty-wet knuckles and considered the question. "Still with me. A cherished warmth. And the painful ones, a distant bearable sadness. I remember them, feel them, but..."

"They're not overwhelming," Jensen offered, pleased.

"Exactly." Releasing Jensen's hand, Jared reached into his pocket. Smooth stone and leather cording clasped tightly in his fist, he held it to his heart before opening his palm to Jensen. "It was Jacob's."

Jensen looked at the pendant, small smile bittersweet on his lips. "We will get you a longer cord. You should wear it. Jade. For remembrance." Hand over Jared's, he closed it back into his fist. "And immortality."

Surprised eyes lifting and locking with Jensen's, Jared nodded slowly, tucking the necklace back into his pocket. Nearly an echo of earlier, he turned from Jensen and made his way through the open area out onto the balcony – into the inky pitch black of the night, barest sliver of moonlight reflecting on the cold water of the lake below.

Jensen didn't wait to follow.  
Discarding his own shirt as he went, Jensen stood behind Jared. Reaching around, he undid the buttons of Jared's shirt until the cotton was free to fall from his body, Jensen closing the distance and pressing himself along Jared's back as if he could meld them together into one.

Once again, as earlier, Jared tipped his head back, though this time there was no mournful plea – his throat bared to Jensen in offering, supplication, acceptance, and love. Destiny. "Jensen."

Jared's arms outstretched wide, welcoming of fate, Jensen gripped a slender hipbone in one hand, the other coming up and around, palm flat against Jared's chest, bracing, as he permitted his fangs to descend. "My love."

The world swooned.

Copper, sweet and thick, heady, exploding over Jensen's lips and tongue, coating his throat with each savored swallow. Jared keening low and hurt, though his body rolled back into the swelling heat of Jensen's growing erection. Rivulets of red down Jensen's chin and Jared's neck. Fingernails raking furrows over a defined chest as Jensen drank the last he dared and withdrew his fangs. And the brilliance of a million stars erupting shone down from the heavens – the night sky filled with their peculiar amber glow.

 

 

Jensen bit into his own wrist, the wound flowing freely he pressed it to Jared's lips. "Drink."

Hands clenching tightly around Jensen's arm, Jared obeyed...

...And Jensen was loath to hold back his tears.  
Nearly three hundred years, and close to a dozen reincarnations of Jared's soul lost to him, finally... The uncanny resemblance to Tristan. Jared's recollection of his past lives through dreams. Even the way in which the tragedy of this incarnation had unfolded. Though he had no understanding of why, to Jensen it was clear: having little if anything to do with his vow, and not coincidence so much as preordained destiny, that this was meant to be the decisive moment in time for him to at last turn Jared, it was a plan written in the heavens before time had even begun.

Releasing his hold on Jensen's wrist, Jared turned his head further. Gazing into iridescent green, shimmering with tears and a fiery glow, he captured lips stained and sticky with his own blood.

Mingling in their heated kiss and coursing through one another's veins, the mixing of their blood bound them physically as their souls had been from the beginning of time.

A whispered, " _My_ love." against his lips, Jensen greedily swallowed Jared's hushed words before he caught him in his arms.  
There was no call for alarm, Jensen's only surprise in that Jared had managed a shared kiss, and his tender proclamation, before being pulled under. Hefting him into the cradle of his arms, Jensen carried Jared inside and laid him out on the generous sofa, knowing he would sleep though not for how long.  
There was much myth and misunderstanding in vampire lore, yet the necessity of consuming blood was a hardened fact. When Jared woke he would be ravenous for it, and Jensen would be prepared.

 

 

Despite blood being the only sustenance he required, Jensen was an unabashed foodie. A chef's kitchen a luxury he indulged in whenever possible. Multiple large pots placed on the gas stove, Jensen filled them with the five gallon jugs of blood from the refrigerator and began to warm the thick, pungent liquid over a low flame.  
Pouring himself a generous glass of wine, he picked up the book he'd been reading off the breakfast bar and went to sit and wait, the plush armchair next to the fireplace putting him near and in direct view of a still sleeping Jared.

A little over two hours passing – Jensen having left his post only once to further ready things and relieve himself – Jared at last woke with a start.

Bolting upright and gasping in air he no longer required, the bodily function merely ingrained, Jared cried out, "Jensen!"

Book heedlessly thrown to the floor, Jensen was immediately by his side. "Shh, easy, Jared. I'm here. I'm right here." Jared's wild eyes, his heaving chest, Jensen knew his desperation. Three centuries passed, and he still recalled the frantic craving for something he could not name when he had woken. As his Nanna had been prepared for his need, so Jensen was in seeing to Jared's. Picking up one of several thermoses he'd earlier filled and placed near the sofa, Jensen twisted off the lid and handed it to Jared. "Here, drink."

Shaky hands clutching the container tight, Jared drank – head tilting back to take in every last drop. Finished, his eyes were still feral when they finally met Jensen's again, though his unnecessary breaths had eased. "I still... Jensen..."

"I know. Just keep drinking." He handed Jared another thermos, fingers soothingly brushing back strands of hair from his face. "I promise, the feeling will ease, gradual, until you are sated."

"How much?" Jared asked, setting aside the second drained thermos and reaching for a third on his own.

"It varies. This first time will be the most, and there is plenty more warming on the stove. You'll know when it's enough."

Jared nodded, another thermos emptied, another opened. He only paused when Jensen stood, reaching out to grab his arm.

"I'm just going to refill the empties. I'll be right back."

Two more trips for refills and almost four gallons gone, Jared finally relaxed back into the supple cushions of the sofa. Closing his eyes, a grin curled a corner of his mouth in his drunken satiation.

Jensen couldn't help but smile. Standing over Jared, he leaned down to lap at the traces of crimson left along his lips, the stray trickles at the corners. "Better?"

Deep and rumbling, Jared chuckled. He lunged forward, grabbing Jensen around the waist as he stood. Leaning down, lips the barest brush against Jensen's as their eyes met – wild, heated, searching – voice gruff, he whispered, "Much."

The top of his head to the tips of his toes, Jensen shivered, though he was nothing close to cold – molten heat beneath his skin and cock thickening. " _Fuck, Jared_ ," Jensen hissed.

Eyebrow arched and a salacious dimpled grin, Jared was a blur of motion as he pinned Jensen to the wall. "Oh, I intend to." A quick flick of his tongue into the divot above Jensen's lip, Jared crushed their mouths together...

...and Jensen opened to him. All the years, the longing. Even when he'd been intimate with Jared in previous incarnations, the prospect of losing him ever a dark shroud... … … At last, lifted. By a pledge in blood and the amber light of immortality, blighted. Jared was his, to have and to hold for eternity.  
Desperate fingers pushed into the strands of Jared's hair, curling round the back of his skull and dragging him down – closer, deeper, devouring.

Clothing being shed, any awkwardness was an ignored insignificance, tenderness a luxury put aside for after fierce and dire primal need had been met.

Jensen hefted up with ease by strong arms, legs wrapping round slender hips, his head dropped back and rolled against the wall – Jared's fingers, slicked in Jensen's own saliva, a coaxing pressure before slipping inside, preparing the way.

Digits freed, Jared lowered Jensen down onto the head of his cock, spit and pre-cum easing the breach and ensuing thrust.

Bliss.

Jensen cried out, painful pleasured ecstasy. Deeper. The rhythmic roll of Jared's hips, every inch inside. Locked together. And Jared's face buried against his neck – moist, reverent litany over quivering lips.

"Jensen, Jensen, _Jensen_..."

Savage force, velocious, Jared's cock thrusting inside him. Skin-on-skin, muscles flexing and mingled sweat. Building, building... A crescendo not in mere minutes but centuries, to an explosive climax...

Jensen's head thrown back, Jared's fangs sank into the juncture of his neck and shoulder as they came.

Letting Jared drink, arms wrapped round his shoulder and head, Jensen basked in the erotic intimacy of it. But for the man who had turned him, never had Jensen permitted another to drink from him – nor had he drunk of another. Not before Jared.  
Eventually easing him back, Jensen once again tasted his own blood from Jared's lips. "Mmm, my love." With uncanny agility, Jensen was out of Jared's hold and on his knees in front of him.

"How..? What..?"

Jensen chuckled. "You'll get used to it." Taking Jared's still semi-hardened length in his grip, he licked the head – salty and earthy, a hint of copper, against his tongue. Fangs descending, he looked up at Jared from beneath hooded lashes. He knew what he must look like.

Jared gasped. "You wouldn't..."

Lips contorting around his fangs into a lecherous smirk, Jensen leaned forward...and then to the side. Mouth working along Jared's groin, he inhaled the musky scent, stopping mere inches from Jared's cock at the top of his thigh. Intricate blue webbing of veins visible through the thinness there, the tip of a fang, barely a hint of pressure, Jensen pierced the skin and watched a line of crimson trickle down pale flesh. Just a taste, enough to tease and tantalize, he laved his tongue up Jared's thigh.

"Fuck," Jared growled, hips canting forward and fingers digging into Jensen's scalp.

Moving that fraction of space sideways, Jensen swallowed Jared down – rousing length nestling deep into his throat. Head bobbing frantically, he swiftly brought Jared to the brink only to pull off.

"Jensen, please!"

Head shaking, Jensen stood. "Not this time, my love. Going to make it last. Make love to every inch of you." Kissing Jared until he nodded his intoxicated acquiescence, Jensen led him across the room – another coffee table heedlessly tossed aside, out of the way to lay Jared out on the soft rug there.  
Straddling Jared's hips, Jensen hovered over his body and began his quest.  
Kisses.  
Right temple, then the left, strong ridge of his brow the path between. The paper thin skin of his eyelids, down to the sloped point of his nose. Next to said nose, onto beside the corner of his mouth, and finally dropping to his chin – all three prominent beauty marks given a triple press of lips. Down his neck, an open-mouthed kiss to his Adam's apple and nose nuzzled in the hollow of his throat. Nipples nipped and suckled in turn, and ridges of muscle worshiped with the flat of Jensen's tongue. Purple blossoms along the sharply cut vee to his groin, Jared shaking with need beneath.

"Jensen, please. _Please_."

Back up to parted lips, Jensen kissed them softly and drew back. "Maybe every inch was a bit lofty for our first night."

"Oh thank fuck," Jared muttered in a breathy rush.

Jensen laughed lightly and kissed him again. "Turn over."

Flash of a coquettish, knowing, dimpled smile, Jared complied – flat on his belly and legs splayed. Elbows suddenly under him and head whipped around, he blurted, "Wait! You're not gonna–"

Jensen bit down into the meaty swell of his right ass cheek – fangs securely retracted. Another time for that. Chuckling at Jared's yelp, he soothed the slight sting with the flat of his tongue and a tender press of lips. "Couldn't resist," he offered with a wink.

"Yeah, well, you just watch where you're getting all fang happy there, mister."

Head cocked, contemplative, Jensen waggled his eyebrows, laughing when Jared literally face-planted against the plush rug with a doomed sigh. "Don't worry, I fancy your bits and baubles far too much for any permanent damage." Emphasizing his words, Jensen kneaded his fingers into flesh. Debatably somewhat diminutive compared to the rest of his body, Jared's posterior was small and tight, pert globes to massage and spread – Jensen's tongue slowly flicking out and back at the reveal of Jared's hole. A slight twitch at the cooler air like a welcoming wink, Jensen didn't hesitate.

Hips canting into the attention, Jared released a drawn out moan, hands reaching back to aid in opening himself wide to Jensen's quest.

A precious few of Jared's reincarnations had allowed for carnal relations, yet the indulgence of this particular intimacy... Not since Tristan – all of their open and wanton shared explorations – had Jensen felt free to partake of his more taboo desire.  
Though he relished both, it wasn't the scent, nor the taste, but the act itself. Hidden away, a most intimate and secret part of one's body. To coax open the dark entrance to his lover's core with his lips and tongue. To tease the sensitive rim with his teeth. To tantalize with each twist and stab of his fingers, awakening Jared's body from within. And sliding the full length of his tongue deep into the illicit depths, slick on slick – tighter and hotter than Jared's mouth, and somehow a headier rush than even joining them with his cock. Not that sinking every inch of his shaft into Jared's body would be without its own merits, Jensen had no doubt – an exquisiteness he'd driven Jared to openly pleading for.

"Jensen, you've gotta... Inside me... _more_. Fuck, _fuck_ me, please!"

"Shh, shh, hush now," Jensen cooed, crawling up along Jared's back with reverent kisses to sweat-slicked skin. "Right here, my love. I've got you." Lying on his side, Jensen coaxed Jared to roll over – back to Jensen's chest and a long leg swiftly hitched up in the crook of his arm.

Bodies shifting to ease the awkwardness of the angle, Jared wrapped his fingers around the back of Jensen's head, pulling him down into an impassioned kiss – open mouths and questing tongues, a heated desperation as his body opened to Jensen's in every way it could.

"Jared-Jared-Jared. My love, _mine_." Foreheads pressed together, full length of his cock sheathed inside Jared, Jensen's words were a whispered prayer, over and over.

"Yours, Jensen. Only, always, yours. Never leaving you again. An eternity of never. This," fingers entwined, "us. _For_ ever."

Nodding fervently, Jensen claimed Jared's lips – hard press turning to tender brushes and nips, his hips a gentle roll and deep grinding rhythm.

Serene lovemaking giving way to a stronger building need, Jared brought their still entwined hands to his own cock – Jensen's grip wrapping round with his.

Jared's shaft being worked in tandem of their still joined hands, Jensen picked up his pace. Gentle rolls traded for rapid driving thrusts, Jared's punched out grunts and curses encouragement before a final shout of release – Jensen fucking him through it and swiftly reaching his own climax.

Instinctively they turned into one another – Jared's body tucked in and partially draped over Jensen's, head pillowed against his chest – before settling into a state of limp bodied euphoria.

"How do you feel?" Jensen asked, eventually breaking the peaceful silence but for the crackling fire.

Jared pressed in closer, thumb playing against the taut nub of Jensen's nipple. "I've spent my entire life loving words. Learning how to use them and going on to teach and share that joy and wisdom with others, and I... I simply don't have the words."

"So, you feel good?"

Jared laughed, deep and open. "Yes, I feel good."

"Good." Jensen laughed as well, a kiss placed to the top of Jared's head.

"So, what do we do now?" Jared questioned, head turned to look up at Jensen expectantly.

A myriad of settings and scenarios, countless varied words, how many times Jensen had dreamt of this moment, wept for it? The centuries an open sea, and every previous incarnation of Jared's a siren song calling him to run up on an ill-fated rocky shore. A multitude of tragedies and immeasurable sorrow, stormy waters giving way to this lifetime whence finally... A swallow soaring above the bow of his ship, and Jared the lighthouse to guide him home.

Eyes shimmering with love, Jensen leaned in and kissed Jared, answering him with a brilliant smile, "Anything we want."

 

**_The Swallow_ **

 


End file.
